I woke too early. I started to open my journal and start to write and decided this isn’t how I wanted my day to start, so I turned out the light and decided to try and get some more sleep.
I did get some more sleep. However it was broken up into thirty minute or hour segments. My shoulder is hurting again this morning. Tylenol takes the pain away for about twelve hours, so I’ll take another. I don’t like using pain medicine however I know from past experience if I let this go and it gets worse it will become unbearable. So the question is whether to pollute my body with pharmaceuticals or be in pain. Neither is welcome but I have to choose. Next week I’ll schedule an appointment with my chiropractor. I need to ask him too if continuing to walk would aggravate the nerve more or not at all or possibly help. That nerve maybe aggravated but I’m also aggravated, I was enjoying the walks and I could feel my body responding to them in a good way.
I’ve never been a great conversationalist. I never learned how to entertain or be a good hostess. I see friends of mine welcome people into their home and make them feel immediately welcome no matter what the situation is. I hear them ask questions and direct conversations to keep things going instead of having dead silence. I never learned how to do that. My parents didn’t entertain. The only people who came into our home were my grandparents or uncles and aunts and those were not very often. Conversations for me were in just joining in, listening mostly and at times if I felt brave enough to ask a question if something said caused me to be curious about something and want to ask. I sometimes think I should take a class to teach me these social skills.
I talk with my Sir every day. Last night he encouraged me to ask him questions. I’m not very good at thinking up questions to ask. I like just talking with people and in conversation slowly allow the topic to be stirred around to where we learn more and more about each other as we talk about our lives. He has read so much about me in my journal about my childhood and my past, he doesn’t have to ask me a lot of questions. Though he still does, but he doesn’t have to ask how many siblings, or what my life was like growing up because most is all in my journal online for him to read. It feels odd asking him these questions when he doesn’t need to ask them of me.
I knew with what was being said that he would be spending today with his parents, especially his mother. I like that he has a family he can spend time with. It is good that he can do so, I think he is lonelier than he lets on. After he said good night I found myself feeling a bit down. At first I thought it was because he would be gone today and I chalked it up to just missing him. Waking this morning though has me thinking. Part of it is because he will most likely be out of touch most of the day. The other part is all the blogs devoted to mothers and Mother’s Day.
I’ve never really been fond of holidays or special days of celebration. I don’t like the forced atmosphere that always came along with those days in my family. Not between me and my daughter. I don’t force these things on her. I try to teach her that we should always be aware of the special things people do for each other and acknowledge them, not relying upon a special day to do so. For Mother’s Day we are happy with just a hug and kiss for her to tell me Happy Mother’s Day and I tell her Happy Daughter’s Day.
My family when I was a child, even later as an adult when we still got together really had no idea of how to have a good time. To just have fun and relax. I always felt tense, always felt like everyone was putting on a face. I was acting the dutiful daughter while looking at people who obviously didn’t want to be where they were and doing what they were doing but because it was tradition, was expected, we were all there.
Mother’s day carries a bit more with it these past couple of years. My mother passed away a couple weeks after Mother’s Day in 2011. She had been diagnosed with a rare blood cancer the end of 2010 after we had moved to British Columbia. Most of my available funds had been used up in the move so we were not able to travel to see her. At the time of her diagnosis, she was at the beginning stage where the doctors say there isn’t anything they can do except just monitor it, and she could be in that stage for months or even years. They would just check her every few months to see if her cancer had progressed any. It advanced faster than they expected. In January they started treatment, and the prognosis was she could still live for a few more years. But things changed drastically and in May I received a call from my brother telling me they didn’t expect her to live more than just a few weeks. A day or two later another call telling me just days. A call was scheduled so I could speak with my mother, which I did and I told her what she wanted to hear. The next day I was told she passed away.
My relationship with my mother for the most part had been good until I defied the order she had given me when I was a teenager that she never wanted to see me dating a black man. When she met the father of my daughter just before I was moving back east is when our relationship was torn asunder. He is black. Since that time in 2002, I had only spoken to my mother once through email which did not go well at all and ended in silence between us. The last time I spoke to her was the day before she died. All she could say to me was that she hoped I turned my life over to God, was saved and that she would see me in heaven. I told her what she wanted to hear and reassured her I had done just that and I would see her in heaven.
My spiritual path has taken me down a different road than my mother. She had grown up in mainstream churches mostly Baptist but then changing to non-denominational later when she divorced due to Baptist strict adherence to no divorce in marriages making her feel unwelcome. The non-denominational sects seemed to be more forgiving or welcoming of those who had chosen to divorce. It didn’t matter to me which church we went to I saw the same thing in all of them we went to. I heard the same rhetoric and I could not fall into step with them. I told my mother one time when she was trying to get me to go back to church after one of my many hiatuses away from attending, that I couldn’t go to church when I walked out of church feeling worse than when I walked into one.
I guess when I moved away to live with a black man was when she decided I had fallen away from God. I couldn’t have a spiritual discussion with her about my spiritual path because it differed so much from what she was raised to believe. I believe to this day I am on the path I am meant to be on. It hurts that I could never talk to her openly about it or that she could not just accept me even to her dying breath that I could choose a path that was right with me and my God. So Mother’s Day carries with it a sadness, a heartache and a longing for a mother I never really had.
On the other hand I have this beautiful daughter, and I plan on being the best mother I can be for her. I take things from my past. I look at them. I ask myself is this something I want for my daughter or for us and if it isn’t then I find what will be best for us. So for us, Mother’s Day, is a day for us to just be together and be who we are, accepting each other just as we are.
So yes, I may be a bit maudlin, but I’m also happy.